


The First Victor

by nicolesoul



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolesoul/pseuds/nicolesoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight AU- Before the Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12 and before their mentor, there was a girl named for the stars. This is her story</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tribute

Katniss finds Haymitch with a bottle of white liquor on her porch at 3 AM.

It was the sound of his singing that woke her up. She had attempted to shake Peeta awake to help her deal with their Mentor, but her useless husband had merely turned over and mumbled something about pie.

So Katniss had fumbled around in the darkness for her boots and her jacket and made her way outside where she found Haymitch on her porch with a bottle of white liquor.

“What are you doing?” she says, crossing her arms out of frustration and cold. He’s been worse than usual with the drinking for the past week or so and despite herself, Katniss has begun to worry.

He squints up at her. “Go ‘way Cass,” he mumbles.

 “It’s Katniss,” she corrects him with a huff.

“Oh,” he says stupidly, “Thought you looked a little too young.”

Katniss sighs, half wanting to leave her mentor here and go back to bed, but the other half reminds her of everything Haymitch did for her and that it would be rude to leave him to die of frostbite on her porch in the middle of the winter after all that, so she grabs his arms and drags him into the house. Haymitch puts up little resistance and allows himself to be thrown in front of the dying fire.

He tries to start to sing again but Katniss gives him a soft kick in the side as she goes to throw a log on the fire to get it restarted. “Peeta’s sleeping,” she hushes him.

Haymitch rolls his eyes and takes a swig from his bottle, but doesn’t protest.

When the fire is roaring again, Katniss settles herself on the couch and patiently waits for the older man to fall asleep so she can go back upstairs.

But instead, Haymitch remains awake, drinking and staring into the fire.

After a half-hour of this, Katniss starts to drift off, but Haymitch’s voice wakes her up.

“You and Lover Boy still writing that book?”

“Yeah.” Katniss raises a brow at Haymitch’s interest. They had told him about their memory book months ago, but he had just scoffed and asked what the point was.

“Can you put somebody in it for me?”

Katniss is taken aback, but she agrees all the same.

“Well a few people actually,” Haymitch chuckles, “I’ve known so many people…” he trails off and they sit in silence for a few moments before he begins again.

“The first District 12 victor,” he says, “Was a woman named Cassiope Fletch.”

* * *

It is the year of the 16th Annual Hunger Games.

There are rumors amongst the districts that the President is ill. They mumble behind closed door that perhaps the Games will end soon. Whispers talk about a school opening in District 2 that will train tributes. Capitol citizens have begun to get excited for the Games. To them, the Games are slowly turning from the bloody reminder of a war to a festivity, a celebration to be excited for. A betting pool has already begun for this year’s Games.

But in District 12, the young girl hiding behind a tree knows none of this.

And even if she did, Cassiope Fletch would not care. Her gray eyes are focused on a handsome boy standing several meters away, laughing with his friends.

“Talk to him,” a voice hisses in her ear. Cass jumps and glares at her friend who giggles, her eyes, that match the color of Cassiope’s, dancing with mirth.

“Perri,” Cass reprimands, “Don’t you have to walk your brother home?”

Perri Greene rolls her eyes. “He can make it on his own. He’ll be thirteen in a few days.”

The girls fall silent the thought of the birthday. Perri’s brother Rhys was born on the eve of a Reaping. His birthday was a reminder every year of what they had to face.

“Still,” Cass says, shaking her head as if the motion could rid her of all thoughts of the Hunger Games, “Your mother will kill you if she knew you let him walk home alone.”

Perri shrugs and turns back to the group of boys Cass had been spying on. “Doesn’t change the fact you should talk to him.”

Cass sighs and waves her friend off. Her unrequited crush on Lark Everdeen had been going on for years and normally Perri left it alone, only poking fun at her friend when she was reduced to a blushing, stuttering mess when Lark spoke to her. But around the Reaping, Perri constantly bothered Cass to speak to Lark, insisting that she didn’t know if it might be her last chance.

Although Perri has a point, not even the threat of the Games could override Cass’s shyness when it came to Lark Everdeen.

“Let’s just go home,” she says, grabbing her school books off the ground, “Before your mother realizes you let Rhys walk by himself.”

Perri rolls her eyes, but glances nervously at the Peacekeepers that line the streets ahead of them. Rhys has a mouth he simply didn’t know how to keep shut and the Greenes tried their hardest to keep him from talking too much in front of the Peacekeepers. Including making sure Perri walks her brother to and from school every day.

But if Rhys has done something stupid, the Peacekeepers ignored it because they are all present as Perri and Cass walk home to the Miner’s Village, or as it’s affectionately dubbed, the Seam.

“See you later, yeah?” Perri asks when they reached her house.

Cass nods, not jealous of her friend at all when she hears Mrs. Greene’s shrieking voice, demanding to know why Perri allowed her brother to walk alone.

Cass’s own two brothers walk each other home each day. Leo and Orion are a year below Rhys, but the twins know when to keep their mouths shut. Which comes in handy for Cass, as the last thing she wanted were her pesky brothers teasing her for wanting to stay afterschool to watch Lark Everdeen mess around with his friends.

Of course the Fletch family knows the dangers of speaking up against the Capitol much better than the Greenes.

Cass shakes the thoughts from her head and picks up her pace towards her home. She can see the twins playing out in the yard, her mother through the window making dinner, and the empty seat where her father would sit.

If he hadn’t been shot dead for treason.

* * *

The Reaping Day is hotter than usual and Cassiope itches in her yellow dress.

Next to her, Perri in light purple swats her hand lightly. “Don’t move so much,” she hisses, eyeing the Peacekeepers that line the pens of children.

Cass tries to take a deep breath to calm down. She won’t be called. Some kids have tons more slips than she does. In her four years, she’s only taken tesserae out twice. Her mother makes a good living as the maid for the mayor of District 12. Others have to take it every year. Ori and Leo won’t be called, it’s only their first year so they only one slip each. She looks over at the boys. They’re gipping hands tightly and she can see Leo’s collar is sticking up in the back.

Cass sighs, she must have fixed it for him at least twenty times on their way to the square this morning and he still managed to mess it up.

Her eyes drift over to Lark Everdeen, standing with the other seventeen year old boys. He has more slips than she’ll ever have, due to his father being injured in the mines a few years ago and his three younger sisters, one of whom is lined up with the fourteen year olds and the others with their parents in the crowd. This is his last year though. She hopes he doesn’t get picked. Seeing seventeen year olds, just barely out of the grasp of the Capitol was almost as depressing as when twelve year olds were reaped.

“Welcome, welcome!” The chipper voice of Magenta Vestor rings out across the crowd, “Happy Hunger Games!”

Cass tries her best to tune out Magenta’s shrill voice. Everyone dislikes the Capitol woman with her blood red corkscrew curls and ridiculous getups. This year she’s chosen a green suit that clashes with her hair made out of some sort of reptile skin. Cass doesn’t know how she could bear to wear it in this heat.

Cass’s eyes wander back over to Lark Everdeen. Perhaps tonight she would speak to him. He lived so close that she could bump into him casually on her way home, ask him how it feels to no longer have to worry about being reaped, push him up against a wall and kiss him senseless.

Perri gives her hand another swat and Cass focuses back on the stage where Magenta’s hand dips into the glass bowl of girls’ names. She plucks one from the pile and lifts it slowly. Cass holds her breath.

“Cassiope Fletch”

Her heart stops.

* * *

What happens next is a blur.

Someone pushes her up front and somehow her feet carry her up the stage where Magenta grins with too many teeth and congratulates her. Cass can only stare blankly at the crowd while she calls up the male tribute. A fourteen year old merchant boy named Erik.

Magenta tells them to shake hands and Cass wonders if she’s looking into the eyes of the killer.

She wonders if Erik is thinking the same thing.

They’re hustled off stage and into the Justice building. And the next thing Cass knows she’s thrown into a room with her mother who clutches her tightly and her brothers who stare at her blankly.

“Oh Cassiope,” she cries, “No, no, you can’t go.”

“It’s not a choice Mama,” Cass whispers.

“They took your father. I can’t let them take you too!”

Cass rubs her tears away with the heel of her palm. “I’m not going to let them take me Mama,” she says. Her voice is far from confident, but it seems to calm her mother, who backs off and tucks a lock of Cass’s messy hair behind her ear.

“Fight for me Cassiope,” she begs her daughter, “Fight for your father.”

Ori and Leo come forward now. Cass has never been close with her brothers. They’re four years younger and have each other. But they both hug her as tightly as their mother.

“You can do it Cass,” Leo whispers in her ear.

Cass barely has time to nod and fix his collar again before the Peacekeepers drag her family out and throw Perri in. The other teenaged girl grabs her friend’s hand. “Try to come back,” she pleads.

Cass nods again, swallowing back her tears. How many people will she make this promise to that she can’t keep?

“You can win,” Perri says frantically, “You’re fast and clever and pretty. They’ll be falling over their feet in the Capitol to sponsor you.”

Neither girl mentions that there will be no District 12 mentor to send those sponsors’ gifts. There’s never been a District 12 victor. The only thing they have is Magenta, who’s too busy worrying about getting promoted to a better District to help the one she’s assigned to now.

“I’m not as pretty as you,” Cass says with a watery smile.

It is a joke between the two girls they’ve had since they were young. Where Perri is short and curvy with a round face and brown curls, Cass is tall and angular with a long face and pin straight hair. Neither was any prettier than the other, but when they were young, they had envied each other’s looks. The older they got, the more envy lessened until it was just a joke between the two.

But the joke felt weak now.

“Oh shut up,” Perri says, wiping the tears off her face, “And come back.”

“I’ll try,” Cass replies.

But they both know the odds are not in her favor.

The Peacekeepers come to remove Perri, and Cass knows that will be the end of her visitors. She had no more family and although she’s friendly with plenty more people, it’s not enough to have them come to see her off.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the Peacekeepers reenter and lead her out of the room and onto the train that will bring her to her most certain death.

* * *

Somewhere deep in her heart, Cass is not surprised she was reaped.

The children of the rebel leaders were the first to go. The Capitol had claimed it was a lottery from the beginning, but it was obvious to anyone that the last names of the first children that were taken those first few Games matched those that had been executed for their crimes against the Capitol.

Their deaths had been broadcast across Panem and now so would their children’s.

But Cass had been an infant then. And more importantly, the Capitol had not known Cyrus Fletch’s part in the rebellion. It was only three years later, when her mother’s belly was still swollen with the twins did the Peacekeepers march into their home and drag her father out onto the streets.

She was only four years old, but Cass would never forget the scene. She had run after her mother, who had followed the soldiers, screaming. Somebody had tried to grab her, maybe multiple people, but she fought out of their grasp and made it all the way to the town square where her father was shot right in front of all of District 12. Right in front of his four year old daughter.

The worst part was that the public shooting of Cyrus Fletch wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last.

But as the years passed, and Cass became eligible for the reaping, the names became more and more random, and it seemed the Capitol no longer cared which children were chosen. Maybe they thought those whose parents were rebels had not been around long enough to influence their children. Or maybe they had just gotten more careful. Plucking a rebel child here and there. Making it as subtle as possible.

Cass didn’t know, nor did she care.

Until today.

* * *

 

The train is fast and full of luxuries neither Cass nor Erik have ever seen. Erik is excited and Magenta seems to enjoy the young boy’s enthusiasm.

“The Capitol will love you,” she coos, tussling his golden curls. Erik grins at her and shoves another helping of pudding into his mouth.

She looks over at Cass who is quietly poking at her plate of food. “And you’re quite pretty too,” she says encouragingly, “Perhaps District 12 will have its first victor this year!”

At this, both Erik and Cass snort.

Magenta looks between them confused. “What’s so funny?” she asks.

They look at each other and shrug before returning to their food. They’re both aware of the death sentence they’ve received, even if Magenta isn’t. There’s a reason District 12 has never had a victor.

* * *

 

The stylists wipe Cass clean. Her scars and calluses and hair on every part of her body asides her head are all gone. She’s never felt more naked, especially when they dress her in a miner’s outfit with the pants tailored into a short skirt paired with a hard hat.

“I look ridiculous,” she says, examining herself in the mirror.

“Nonsense,” her stylist, a woman named Lyra, replies, “The skirt does wonders for your legs.”

“But the heels…”

“Your legs go on for miles,” Lyra insists, straightening out Cass’s skirt, her eyes, an unnatural violet, scanning for any imperfections.

Thankfully, Erik looks even more ridiculous as his stylist as cut off the top of his jumpsuit and smeared his chest with coal dust.

“Shut up,” he mumbles as Cass hides her giggles behind her hand.

She apologizes and gives him a hand into their chariot. “At least you don’t have to wear heels,” she tells him motioning to the coal black pair on her feet that make them ache with every step, “I don’t know how Magenta walks in these.”

The ride is long and torturous, but Cass does her best to smile and wave as Magenta and her stylist instructed her to. She grips onto the chariot tightly with her non-waving hand and when they reach the end, she can see small lines indented on her newly softened palms matching the pattern in front of her.

President Cobb stands to make his speech. He is an old man, and it’s clear to all of Panem that the war has taken his life from him.

Behind him is his Chief of Staff, Coriolanus Snow, who Cass had heard many rumors about, none of them good. A bright red rose is fastened on his lapel and for a moment Cass swears she can smell the flower’s scent from her place in the chariot.

He stares down at her and Cass looks away, the smell suddenly overwhelmingly sickening.

* * *

 

Magenta encourages them to find allies when training begins.

It seems pointless to Cass. Why make friends that are just going to kill you in the end?

She argues with the escort throughout breakfast and by the end, Magenta throws her arms up in defeat.

Erik remains silent through the meal, but when they make their way down to the training gym, he mutters, “I think you’re right.”

Cass smiles down at him and for a moment her heart pangs to know that when she doesn’t want allies, this includes Erik.

The other tributes filter in slowly. Most are younger than Cass, either 13 or 14, and smaller than her too. She makes note of the pairs from 1 and 2, all 16 and 17 years old. The two districts closest to the Capitol have the highest number of volunteers and victors. For them, fighting in the Hunger Games is an honor.

The girl from 1 is smaller than Cass, a flighty thing with golden hair who’s sure to pick up sponsors simply for the way she thrusts out her chest, if not the way she flings daggers. The boy looks like the bigger threat. He’s the tallest of the twenty four, although the boy from 2 may be the largest is you factor in width. It’s hard to miss him lifting the massive weights no one else dares to touch.

The girl from 2 is about the same height as Cass, but like her district partner, is wide with muscle. She wields a knife like no one else.

The others are not so impressive. The boys from 4 and 10 and the girl from 6 are the only other ones taller than Cass, but the girl is far too nervous to be much of a threat. She cries the second day of training. The girl from 3 is a tiny thing but seems incredibly clever. The boy from 7 is good with an axe, but seems intent on staying with his district partner who’s utterly useless.

No, Cass resolves, an ally will do her no good.

* * *

Training goes by quickly.

For her session with the Gamemakers, she shows off her speed and what she’s learned at the knife training area. That is, all the ways to cut a fellow tribute fatally. She earns herself a 7 and vomits in the hall afterwards.

Erik never tells her what he does, but it earns him an 8 either way.

Magenta is ridiculously pleased with them.

“If your interviews go well, one of you could very well be the first District 12 victor!” she chirps.

Cass and Erik get a good laugh out of this again.

The redheaded woman frowns at them both, but doesn’t bother to question it. She’s brought up the idea of one of them being the Victor several times since they’ve come to Capitol and each time they laugh. Instead, Magenta announces she’ll be helping them prepare for their interviews tomorrow.

It is here that Cass falters for the first time.

Public speaking has never been her forte. In school, when they were required to give oral reports, Cass spent most of hers hemming and hawing, tripping over her tongue. Perri was always known as the loud one of the two.

The thought of her friend now makes Cass almost as nauseous as public speaking.

Magenta assures her she’ll be fine, but ten minutes into their practice when Cass can’t get out her own brothers’ names, Magenta sighs, “Oh dear. Well,” she hums, “Perhaps we’ll play it that you’re terribly shy, but eager. Try to look up at me through your lashes, oh no not like that.”

They practice this for the rest of the time, and by the end, Cass manages to get Magenta’s approval.

Erik tells her at dinner, he’s supposed to act like a child, amazed with everything the Capitol has to offer.

As much as Cass dislikes it, both angles they’ve been instructed to take are good.

Their stylists must have talked to Magenta before, because their interview outfits match perfectly with their new personalities.

Cass wears a pretty blue dress that is dark at the top and gradually gets lighter as it moves down. It’s cut conservatively on her chest, but the lighter the blue on the bottom, the more sheer the dress becomes, showing off the legs that Lyra loves so much. Cass is petrified all of Panem will see right through the dress, but Lyra assures her she’ll be fine.

The only upside is her heels are only an inch this time.

The stylists curl her hair and pin is up, leaving a few tendrils falling in her face. Her eye shadow is a glittering blue that matches her dress and her lips are a light pink.

Cass wonders if Lark Everdeen will see her tonight, more beautiful than she’s ever been. If he’ll regret never talking to Cassiope Fletch before she was sent to her death for the crimes of her father.

She hopes he doesn’t. She hopes he’ll hate her like this, a pretty doll for the Capitol to play with. She hopes this isn’t how she’ll be remembered back in District 12.

Erik is dressed in a powder blue suit that nearly matches her dress. His curls have been tamed and his cheeks are pink. He almost looks too young to be in the Hunger Games at all.

“It’s perfect,” Cass mumbles as they wait in line to go on stage.

“I hate it,” Erik whispers back.

“Good,” Cass tells him, fixing his collar.

* * *

 

The interview goes okay.

Cass manages not to make an idiot of herself and when they watch the replay afterwards, she’s surprised to see she actually comes off quite well, embarrassed and taken aback with the attention she’s receiving, but pleased by it all the same.

Erik does just as well and when they watch the recap, both are surprised to hear just how loud the applause they receive from audience is. Magenta is beaming when the television shuts off. “Oh District 12 might have a victor just yet!”

For the first time, neither she nor Erik laughs.

* * *

 

“It’s going to be cold,” Lyra says as she helps Cass dress. Cass’s eyes flicker back to the glass tube a few feet from them for the millionth time. “This jacket’s insulated, so it should give you some help, but you’ll want to find shelter.”

Cass nods absently, eyes still on the tube.

“Cassiope?” She looks back to the stylist with her unnatural purple eyes, “Good luck.”

Cass is slightly surprised to see tears on Lyra’s cheeks, but it’s a nice sort of surprise. A reminder that what’s about to happen to her is sad, is wrong.

“Thank you,” Cass replies.

A countdown begins.

* * *

 

They are walled in.

Not literally, but it certainly feels like it. The walls of a valley are raised all around them.

The tributes’ platforms are surrounded by ice. They’re on a frozen lake Cass realizes. The Cornucopia, filled to the brim with weapons and supplies, is in the middle. Unlike previous years where things have been spread out around the structure, this year everything is inside.

The ice looks thinner in front of her, but if Cass takes two steps back, she’ll be on solid ground and can make a run for the forest. There’s a light layer of snow and it will be uphill and difficult, but if she goes fast enough, the higher ground will give her an advantage on anyone who comes after, even if she has no weapon.

Cass’s eyes flick towards the Cornucopia again. There’s no guarantee she could make it there without the ice breaking and there’s always the bloodbath at the beginning that will no doubt be far worse this year with the supplies so close together.

The gong rings out and Cass turns on her heel and runs.

* * *

 

The trees are unfamiliar at first, but Cass recognizes them vaguely, the name just on her tongue. She thinks she saw them when she was a child. Large skinny trees covered in needles as opposed to leaves that stay green in all weather. In the forest maybe, before it was fenced off. Before her father.

She hears the cannons ring out numerous times as she runs, but after sometime they peter out. She keeps going, not daring to stop yet. She didn’t see who went into the fray and who followed her lead into the forest. But after several hours her muscles begin to ache and her throat is dry as sandpaper.

Cass finds a dense patch of bushes and falls to the ground, exhausted. Absently she scoops up some snow and shoves it in her mouth like she and Perri liked to do after gym class during the winter.

It is only after she swallows that she realizes her mistake. Who knows what’s in this snow?

It’s too late to do anything besides make herself throw up.  Worse comes to worse, she dies of poisoned snow.

But after a while, she feels fine, so Cass decides the snow is probably ok. She grabs another handful and continues her run.

She goes like this for a while, taking small breaks for snow and rest. When the sun sets, she collects large broken tree branches and creates a poor excuse for a shelter that will do little more than hide her from any tribute not looking particularly hard.

When the anthem plays she stares up at the night sky through the needles and watches the dead children’s faces above.

Eleven have died, a good number for the bloodbath. Erik’s face is not among them. A small feeling of relief passes through Cass followed quickly by disappointment. She will not kill him, not her district partner, but if he doesn’t die, she can’t go home.

* * *

 

The next few days pass slowly.

Cass continues her path up the valley hills, keeping her hunger at bay with tree bark, needles, and the occasional berry bush, although the berries she can’t identify she steers clear of. There are small animals everywhere, but without a weapon, the only thing they’re useful for to Cass is seeing what is and isn’t edible. She finds a creek the second day, but with nothing to carry the water in, she leaves it be and sticks with snow, which seems to increase by a few inches every night.

The temperature decreases constantly. Cass tries her hardest to avoid making a fire, knowing the wood around her will make too much smoke. She curls up into a tight ball when she sleeps and decides dying of frostbite is better than dying by another tribute’s hand.

She runs into no one, but four more cannons boom. To keep her mind off her rumbling stomach, she counts the remaining tributes.

The boy from 1.

Both from 2.

The girl from 3.

The boy from 4.

The girl from 8.

The boy from 10.

Both from 12.

Nine left.

Cass can’t remember a Hunger Games where both tributes from 12 were in the final eight and wonders if maybe this will be the first time.

* * *

 

On the fourth day, everything changes.

Cass decides to finally try climbing a tree and has made it several meters up when a loud crashing catches her attention.

She freezes, eyes trained on the direction in which the noise is coming from.

She’s not sure what she expects but Erik running through the trees isn’t it.

But that’s what she gets and in her surprise, Cass loses her grip on the branch. Desperately trying not to fall off, she scrambled to grab ahold again and knocked a heavy amount of snow off the tree in the process.

Erik’s head snaps towards her, his eyes wide.

“Help,” he begs.

Cass knows, she knows, this is the last thing she should do.

She should ignore him, climb higher, or run away.

Anything, anything, other than what she does.

Which is drop to the ground and meet him at the base of the tree.

“They’re after me,” he tells her.

“Who?”

“1 and 2. Do you have a weapon?” She shakes her head and looks down at the bloody cleaver clenched in his right hand.

Oh right, she thinks faintly, Erik is the butcher’s son.

She thinks she knows how he got that 8 in training.

There’s the loud sound of footsteps from the direction Erik came in and the tall male tribute from 1 and the brutish girl from 2 come barreling through the trees.

“Aw look Ursa,” 1 grins maniacally, “He found a friend.”

“Get the girl Baize,” the girl, Ursa, commands, “The baby is mine.”

Baize obeys, tackling Cass before she can react. She fights him, clawing and kicking, but he’d be stronger even if Cass wasn’t weak from hunger and before long he has her arms in a tight grip behind her back, forcing her to watch as Ursa and Erik circle one another.

“Think you’re funny, do you?” Ursa sneers, “Trying to attack while we’re defenseless?”

Cass wonders what Erik’s done. Did she miss a cannon while she was in the tree? How had the small boy managed to get a drop on tributes twice his size?

Erik says nothing as Ursa continues to taunt him. 

Cass continues to fight against Baize’s hold on her. “Easy there sweetheart,” he whispers in her ear, “Calm down and we can have some fun before I kill you.”

He licks her ear and Cass’s blood runs cold.

Ursa leaps and tackles Erik. The boy gets some good slices at her, but the District 2 tribute is stronger and before long she has him pinned down, cleaver knocked aside. The snow around them is pink with blood.

“You’ll regret ever stepping foot in our camp,” she hisses.

Erik spits in her face and Ursa lets out a wild cry, plunging the knife into his chest.

“No!” Cass screams.

The snow darkens to red as Ursa rips the knife out of Erik’s chest, and stabs him again and again.

But with each fresh wound, Cass no longer sees Erik. Instead, it is Leo under Ursa’s knife. Then Ori, then Rhys, Lark, Perri, her mother, her father. And then Cass just sees red.

“No!” she shrieks again, pushing off of Baize. The boy, surprised by her sudden strength, reels backwards, falling over, his head hitting the trunk of the tree Cass had been climbing almost minutes ago with a sickening crunch.

Ursa looks up at the noise, but she too is unprepared for Cass as the thinner girl launched herself at her.

The knife flies out of Ursa’s hand, hitting the ground a few feet away as the two girls begin to grapple. Any other day, Ursa would win in a heartbeat, but today she’s been weakened by her fight with Erik, still dripping blood from wounds on her arms and across her chest. And more importantly, Cass fights as a girl with nothing left to lose. She doesn’t defend herself. Her only goal is to hurt, no, to kill the girl in front of her.

And it’s this single focus that allows her to spot the glimmering blade in the snow, only an arm’s length away now, still red with blood, as Ursa pays more attention to stopping Cass from worsening her wounds.

Cass grabs the knife and without hesitation, swipes it across the other girl’s neck, just as she was taught in training.

Ursa falls back lifelessly. Her blood pours from her neck, coating Cass. But she pays little attention as she stumbles off the dead girl and falls next to Erik, dropping the knife next to his dead body as she fumbles to work the pack off his back.

It takes a few minutes, but she manages it and then makes her way over to Ursa and Baize and does the same. By the time she’s finished, she’s covered in the blood of all three fallen tributes and stumbles away, ignorant of the red footsteps she leaves behind her. She crashes through the bushes and the trees blindly until a tree root trips her up and Cass falls to the ground.

She lays motionless for a few seconds and all of Panem holds their breath. And then slowly she pushes herself up to a sitting position. Her eyes are trained on her bloody hands, a puzzled look on her face, as though she’d forgotten what happened.

Then she lets out a choked sob, and another, and another. She curls herself up into a ball and cries for Erik and Baize and Ursa and for herself and prays that someone, anyone, finds her and puts her out of her misery.

No one comes.

* * *

 

The sun sets and it rises and on the fifth day Cassiope Fletch is still alive.

She checks the contents of the packs she’s taken. There are medical supplies, which she begrudgingly uses on her various scrapes and cuts, and a little food. Cass scarfs it all down before she can help herself and promptly vomits it back up.

There’s a canteen with water she uses to clean the taste of sick out of her mouth and a sleeping bag she won’t have much use for until that night.

She makes camp and starts a fire, almost daring another tribute to come find her. But she remains alone and miles away, Capitol announcers theorize the blood leading to Cass has scared the other tributes out of approaching. 

As night settles over the forest and Cass warms herself, trying to think of anything but the blood she still sees on her hands despite washing it off, a flash of silver overhead catches her eye. Cass watches two silver parachutes make their way down to her. For a moment she hesitates, unsure if she wants them, but when they land several feet away, she scrambles to reach them, not sure what to expect.

The first one is food: chicken, bread and rice. Her stomach still turns at the sight of the food and she sets it aside for later.

She unwraps the second package careful. Cass guesses it will be more food, but it’s not.

She drops the knife immediately, the blade is shining and clean, but Cass would recognize it anywhere.

It’s Ursa’s knife.

Cass knows it’s not from a sponsor.

The Gamemakers have sent her this knife as a reminder.

She is not here to cry and run away and forget. She is here to kill.

The next morning, Cass stomps out the remainder of her fire, throws her supplies into Erik’s backpack, grabs the knife and for the first time in the Games, heads down into the valley.

* * *

 

The snow melts on her way down and when she reaches the edge of the forest at dusk, she can see the ice on the lake is gone too. Not that it matters, the Cornucopia is empty. All the weapons and supplies that are left are piled high by the side of the lake and guarded by the District 2 boy.

He’s been wounded badly, Cass guesses by Erik’s cleaver, and doesn’t seem to have much strength or blood left in him.

But all the same she waits for night to fall and for the anthem to play to sneak up behind him and cut his throat.

The kindest deaths, she decides, are the ones we don’t see coming.

The others come to the lake one by one. Driven by their thirst or the Gamemakers, Cass hides and waits for them to approach the lake with a careful eye on the pile of supplies she hasn’t touched.

They’re so busy looking at the pile, they don’t notice her until it’s too late.

They’re already dead, Cass reasons after each body falls, they were all dead the minute their names were chosen. Some just took a little longer than others to die. To kill them now is a blessing, the kindest thing Cass could do. What’s the point of drawing out their pain?

After the last is gone, the boy from 4, Cass smiles and brings Ursa’s knife to her own throat.

_Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the 16 th Annual Hunger Games, Cassiope Fletch of District Twelve!_

The knife sends a jolt through her arm and Cassiope drops it in surprise. The hovercraft swoops down to get her before she even has a chance to pick it up again.

But Cassiope knows it doesn’t matter.

* * *

 

President Cobb places the crown on her head with a wearisome sigh and offers her a half-hearted congratulation. A cheer goes up from the crowd. And Cass smiles with dead eyes, accepting their praise. They’ve thrown this party for her, this celebration she never asked for, but she just wants it to be over. Tomorrow she can return home and forget all about the Capitol for six months until they drag her back here for the so-called ‘Victory Tour’, a new tradition begun a few years back when the Capitol decided it was necessary to remind the districts of the Hunger Games halfway through the year, lest they forget.

She shakes the President’s hand, and is directed to sit at the table on a raised platform at the front of the ballroom. The President takes a seat farther down as Avoxes emerge, carrying food around on platters for the guests. On her one side sits a female gamemaker, the other chair is empty at first.

But just as she’s served, a young man takes the seat. She ignores him at first, as she planned to do to any Capitol guests that didn’t speak directly to her. And at first it seems he intends to do the same. Until the Avox leaves along with the female gamemaker, pulled out of her seat by another guest with an invitation to dance.

“I hope the Capitol will be seeing more of you in the future Miss Fletch,” he says.

Cass is startled by the words and she looks up into the young man’s eyes. The cold blue stare of Coriolanus Snow looks back at her.

“Cassiope,” he continues, “It’s a lovely name. Do you know where it comes from?”

Cass’s eyes dart around, but most of the table is empty. No one to save her.

“The stars,” she murmurs, looking away, “It’s the name of a constellation.”

Her father had loved the stars and wanted to name all his children after them. Cass had a vague memory of him taking her out in the background and pointing to sky, drawing shapes in the stars with his fingers, though she never knew how he had learned of them.

“It is close,” Snow chuckles, “I believe the true name is Cassiopeia. Named for a Greek Queen. Have you heard of Greece, Cassiope?”

She stares at him blankly and he laughs again. The sound sends a shiver down Cass’s spine. “No I don’t suppose you would have,” he says, “It was an ancient land, destroyed long ago. Do you want to hear Queen Cassiopeia’s story?”

Cass does not, but she also doesn’t want dare and refuse Snow, so she nods.

Snow smiles, his teeth a blinding white. “Cassiopeia was a beautiful woman and she knew it. She boasted herself to be even more beautiful than the gods. But the gods did not take kindly to her vanity and threatened to destroy her land with a flood. To appease them, Cassiopeia sacrificed her daughter, but the gods decided this wasn’t good enough and decided she should still be punished as well. So they tied her to a chair in the heavens that turned her upside-down for half the year.” Snow gives another sickly smile. “Personally I think the gods could have done a lot worse.”

“You think she got off easy?” Cassiope says before she can stop herself.

Snow looks delighted by her question. “Oh yes. She thought she was better than the gods! I think the punishment for not knowing one’s place should be much worse.”

Suddenly the point of the story becomes quite clear and Cass looks away.

“Still,” Snow says, putting a hand on her shoulder as he stands up, “A lovely name, Cassiope.”

Cass has always loved her name. She knew no one else with it and considered it a gift from her father. But now it feels just as tainted as the rest of her.

It’s appropriate, Cass thinks as she boards the train the next day, she should leave the name behind in the Capitol. She isn’t Cassiope Fletch anymore. That girl died in the arena besides Erik, bloody in the snow.

Now she’s just Cass. Cass the hunter, Cass the murderer.

Cass the Victor


	2. The Victor

Haymitch trails off, the story of Cassiope seems finished, but Katniss can tell her mentor has more to say.

She leans forward. On the one hand she wonders if she should be writing this down, but she doesn’t want to risk stopping Haymitch and never hearing the end of the story.

Haymitch stares at his bottle, tracing the lip, but not taking a drink. Finally, he continues with a sigh, “She was a little less crazy by the time she became my mentor, but not by much.”

* * *

The boy from District 1, Baize, holds her down.

“When this is over we’re going to have some fun,” he purrs into her ear.

Behind him Ursa sharpens her knife and grins.

“Let me see her,” the girl says.

Baize yanks her up and turns her towards Ursa. She tries to command her limbs to fight back, but they remain motionless as Ursa comes towards her, the knife flashing in the sunlight.

“Did you think I would let you get away with killing me?” Ursa asks, grinning manically.

Cass shakes her head and tries to explain, tries to apologize, but her mouth is frozen shut. Ursa swipes down with her weapon, tearing Cass’s shirt open, then again across her chest, creating a ribbon of red that runs down Cass’s body.

The tribute turns and hands the knife to the small blonde boy behind her.

“Your turn,” she says.

Erik smirks and takes it. “Finally,” he says, “I’ve been waiting forever.”

Cass hangs her head in defeat as the boy takes his turn, driving the knife into her shoulder. He hands it off to the boy from 2, who cuts her breast before giving it to the girl from 3. One by one they slice and stab. The line of children behind them grows longer every time Cass looks up.

“Please,” she begs, her mouth working again, “I’m sorry.”

“Not good enough,” they tell her, “Not good enough Fletch!” They chant her name as they slash her with the knife.

“Fletch! Fletch! Fletch!”

“Miss Fletch!” A high female voice replaces the chorus of children and Cass Fletch’s eyes pop open. 

It was a dream, of course. The same nightmare she’s had every night since winning the 16th Hunger Games.

“Oh Miss Fletch!” The trilling sound of Mitzi Hoops carries up the stairs and Cass can hear the escorts clicking heels against the wooden floor.

She pulls the blankets over her head and pretends to go back to sleep.

“Miss Fletch!” Mitzi’s in the room now, “You’re going to be late! Don’t you know what day it is?”

Of course Cass knows what day it is. There’s only one day it could be if Mitzi’s in the same room, no, the same district as her.

Still, messing with the District 12 escorts is one of the few pleasures Cass has these days. So she says from under the blankets, “My birthday?”

Mitzi huffs. “No Miss Fletch,” she says, “It’s Reaping Day and you are late. It’s the Second Quarter Quell, remember? We start early so we can hear President Snow’s address.”

Right, Cass groans quietly, the Quarter Quell, the 50th Hunger Games. Hell’s teeth, has she really been doing this for 34 years?

Mitzi’s peering over her now and Cass does her best to act like she’s fallen back asleep, but the Capitol woman sees through her act and in one swift motion, with a surprising amount of strength, grabs hold of Cass’s blanket and yanks it off the victor’s body.

Mitzi smirks, but this quickly morphs into a shocked face when she turns back to the older woman only to find herself at the end of hunting knife pointed at her neck.

“Do that again,” Cass says, teeth clenched, “And I won’t hesitate to plunge it into your heart.”

Mitzi nods, paralyzed with fear. Cass leans back, lowering the knife. “Get out of my house,” she commands.

The young woman nods again and dashes out of the room. Cass gets a small sense of satisfaction when she hears Mitzi run into furniture and knock things over in her haste to leave, but it’s short lived as soon as she remembers that no matter how many escorts she sends running from her house, she still has to attend the Reaping.

With a heavy sigh, Cass tosses the knife on the bed and drags herself into the bathroom to take a shower. Reaping Day and the Quarter Quell, as if living through one Quell wasn’t bad enough. Cass only hopes she won’t be around for the next one.

As she steps into the shower and turns the knobs for the water, Cass tries to imagine what horrors the Capitol will have in store this year. The previous Quell had required the Districts to vote which children they sent in the arena.

District 12 had been clever in the worst way, choosing two children from the Community Home both aged 18.

Cora and Tyler

No, Cass squeezes her eyes shut and allows the hot water to pour over her, don’t think of them.

Forget them

Forget their names

But Cass knows it’s futile. She remembers every child, every Game, every death, whether she wants to or not.

* * *

Cora and Ty weren’t surprised when they were Reaped.

The citizens of District 12 had been smart with their votes. They’d chosen the two Seam children from the community home. Kids without families who would miss them. Two troublemakers: Cora who slept around with Peacekeepers and Ty who stole from shops and fought the other kids. Teenagers who were both old enough to understand why they had been sent to their deaths.

Looking them in the eye had been terrifying for Cass. How could she comfort them knowing that they couldn’t even blame the odds?

Like most tributes, Cora and Ty each fell into one of the two catergories.  

Cora had accepted her fate. She had little intention of fighting and died the second day, by a Career from Two.

But the boy, Ty, had decided just because he understood, didn’t mean he would accept it. He was a fighter.

On the train on the way to the Capitol, he had sat down in front of Cass and asked, “How do I win?”

Cass raised a brow, “You don’t.”

He gritted his teeth. “I can,” he insisted, “I can fight, I’m quick.”

Cass, in her late twenties at this point, shook her head. “Why would you even, how could you…” she trailed off.

“I want to prove them wrong,” he said.

“The Capitol?”

“District 12,” he scowled and stared out the window at the passing scenery, “They think they can just, just throw me to wolves, that I don’t matter. That I’m Seam trash. Don’t they realize that by sending me, by sending us, voluntarily, they’re no better than the Capitol?”

“They didn’t have a choice Ty,” Cass said softly.

“I just want to win, to come back and prove them all wrong,” he replied.

Cass wanted him to win too. She tried her best, besides Ty there was only one other tribute she had worked harder with.

He made it to the final four before the mutts got him.

* * *

On the stage in the town square, Cass stares at her feet.

It’s too painful to look anywhere else. The parents remind her of the children she’s failed to bring home and the children remind her there’s more to die in the future.

But despite herself, she steals a few glances as the people of 12 filter in.

Lark Everdeen and his wife standing with their eldest son, their youngest son is with the other 17 year olds.

She catches sight of her brother, Orion, with his wife and their little daughter Melina, still too young for the Reaping. Their son is with the 14 year olds…

Cass looks back down at her shoes when she spots her nephew. She can’t bear the thought of his name without guilt sweeping over her.

Instead she focusses on Mitzi, whose voice echoes out from the microphone on the stage.

“Testing, Testing,” she chirps. The microphone cracks and pops, but Mitzi soldiers on. “Welcome to the 50th Hunger Games Reaping! Before we begin, if you could all direct your attention to the screen behind me where President Snow will announce the special twist for this year’s Quarter Quell!”

The screen, which had been a static picture of the Panem seal, turns black, and then lights up with President Snow’s face. Cass flinches at the sight of the man and goes back to her shoes.

“This year as a reminder that for every Capitol citizen killed, two rebels died, twice the amount of tributes will be reaped from each district, two girls and two boys.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd and Cass’s stomach drops. Four children? More children she now has to prepare for slaughter alone. As if two weren’t bad enough.

Mitzi is practically shaking with joy from the announcement and eagerly begins with a chipper “Ladies first!”  

They call a tiny Seam girl and a merchant girl who’s 16 or 17, Cass isn’t sure. But she doesn’t miss the way she clings to her sister and friend before climbing up to the microphone.

The first boy is equally as small as the Seam girl and Cass gets the feeling this will be a quick Games for her.

That is, until they call the next name.

“Haymitch Abernathy.”

Her blood runs cold as the handsome boy with dark curls and gray eyes that match Cassiope’s own makes his way past the other boys his age. He stands tall and proud and Cass’s heart breaks when she finds his mother in the crowd.

Perri Abernathy has collapsed in silent tears in her husband’s arms and it takes all of Cass’s strength not to look away from her former best friend.

* * *

While tributes are allowed visiting time, mentors are usually shoved on the train as fast as possible. Cass understands. Anyone they’d want to say goodbye to will see them again soon. Mentors are after all the only ones with a guaranteed trip back to their district. And in any case, no one’s wanted to see Cass off in years.

But this year a hand pulls her arm as she makes her way to the train, tugging her off the road into an alley way behind the justice building.

“Perri,” Cass says, surprised.  

The last time they have spoken was at Perri’s toasting. No that wasn’t true. The last time Cass spoke to Perri was at her toasting. A cool summer night that was probably the last time Cass ever thought things might be okay. Sure being a mentor was absolutely terrifying and awful and the reaping was in a few weeks, but she still had her family and her friends and that reaping would be the last for Leo and Orion.

She had turned down an event at the Capitol to attend Perri’s wedding to Markus Abernathy. They hadn’t even seemed to mind so much. Perri looked so beautiful in her white dress even if it was a little stained at the bottom from the last bride who had worn it and Markus hadn’t been able to keep his eyes or hands off of her.

And Perri couldn’t stop giggling the whole night (although it might have been from the white liquor she had drank for the first time) and right before Cass had set off for the night she had whispered in her ear, “You’ll be toasting the bread next!”

Cass had just laughed and said good bye.

That had been before. Before the reaping that had changed everything.

The last time Perri had spoken to Cass had been nearly a year after that. Cass could still hear her friend’s cries echoing down the empty foyer, her fists pounding on the door, the wall hard against Cass’s back as she wrapped herself in a ball and let the tears stream down her face, refusing to open the door, to let her friend cry with her because everything she touched was cursed.

Not opening the door was almost as big of regret for Cass as attending Perri’s toasting instead of the Capitol event.

It had been her friend’s first miscarriage, followed shortly by another before the gods had finally smiled upon the Abernathys and given them a little boy, strong in strength like his father and will like his mother.

Haymitch, who was now being sent to his death, aided only by the one woman who his mother had now gone to plead with for his life.

“You have to save him,” Perri says, tears streaming down her round cheeks, “You have to.”

“Perri,” Cass looks away, “You have another son.” A younger one born a few years after Haymitch.

“And I want to keep both of them! Please! You owe me that much.”

Cass closes her eyes, the sounds of Perri’s banging and begging echoing inside her head. Her friend had been trying to speak to her for weeks, but Cass hadn’t wanted to hear about it, the new life growing in Perri’s stomach, when one of the most important lives Cass cared for had just been extinguished.

_“I lost him Cass, I don’t know what to do I need you!”_

“I need you.”

Cass snaps back to the present.

“Please,” Perri says, voice trembling. She never knew Cass blamed her. Cass had never told anyone what she had turned down to attend the Abernathy toasting and what it had cost her.

Slowly, Cass nods. “I’ll try,” she says. It’s days like these where Cass gets awful tired of saying those words.

Perri manages and watery smile and throws her arms around her old friend. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Cass returns the hug for a moment before pushing Perri off of her. “Now go say good-bye to your son before it’s too late.”

Perri runs off, blowing her nose in a handkerchief as she goes.

No, Cass never told her best friend why she stopped speaking to her all those years ago. Never told her about the Capitol event she had declined in favor of Perri’s wedding. The event that almost certainly led to her younger brother’s death.

* * *

Everything had seemed okay that day besides the fact it was the Reaping until his name was called out.

The murmurs among the crowd broke out instantly. Orion had hung onto his sleeve, their mother had dropped to the ground in tears and Cass was frozen in her seat. But Leo walked to the stage with his head held high and shook the little Seam girl’s hand he would need to kill if he ever wanted to see home again as though there was nothing wrong about this at all.

He was seventeen. It was his last year.

In the district building, their mother wept and Orion knocked over desks and chairs in anger.

“It’s not fair!” he yelled, “They took Cass and now they’re going to take you too!”

Cass looked at her younger brother, still and calm despite his twin’s rage. All she could see was the twelve year old boy whose collar she had to straighten constantly.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, “I’ll have Cass with me and if she can do it, so can I.” He smiled at his sister. “You’re gonna help me, right Cass?”

She rushed towards him at once and flung herself into his arms. Cass was tall, but both Leo and Orion were taller despite their age difference. “I’m going to try,” she whispered into his shirt.

And try she had. Up until this point, Cass had done little for her tributes. No one wanted to sponsor 12, even after her Games. As far as she was concerned, her tributes were doomed to the same fate as little Erik and every other tribute before them. It was better this way, she had thought, being a victor, a survivor, haunted by nightmares; it was no way to live. The new escort, a man called Dodi with hideous neon green hair, had told she needed to convince potential sponsors, but she had no idea what he meant, nor did she care to find out.

Until now.

She thought about going to Dodi, but instead decided to ask a fellow mentor while Leo and the little seam girl named Margie were at training. Thankfully the first mentor she saw was an older girl called Mags from District 4 who had always been nice to Cass.

Mags had looked at her sadly. “The boy’s your brother, isn’t he?”

Cass looked down. Everyone knew he was. The Capitol hadn’t stopped talking about it since the Reaping. She knew sponsors were interested, but she had no idea how to get them to actually give her brother money.

“They’ll come to you,” Mags said, “Don’t worry sweetie. They like your story.”

There was a bark of laughter from behind and they turned to see Gem, a ferocious beauty from District 1. “If all it took to get sponsors was a sad story, don’t you think your district would have a few more victors little hunter?”

Cass winced at the nickname. Apparently she bore some resemblance to a moon goddess from some story older than the dark days and the Capitol had taken to calling her Artemis the Hunter after the goddess. But when the other victors used the nickname it was full of malice, as though they were letting her know just how little they approved.

Mags rolled her eyes. “Ignore her,” she whispered, before heading off to check on her own tributes.

Cass wanted to, but the temptation to find out what Gem meant was too strong and her baby brother’s life was on the line so she chased after the older victor.

Gem just smiled and sent her towards a man called Augustus Poundsworth, a rich Capitol citizen, who happened to know Cass’s number one fan who would be more than happy to sponsor her little brother, in return for a night together.

At first Cass had foolishly thought he only wished for her company, but as Mr. Cornelius Jacoby’s hand went further and further up her leg, Cass quickly realized he was looking for much more.

But her brother was worth it.

And in the end, when Cass had spoken to other victors about it later, she had found Mr. Cornelius Jacoby could have been much worse. As could have Octavian Arnold, Benedictus Diesel or Polonius Lemsip.

But in the end, it didn’t matter how many men she slept with to send her tributes weapons and food because she couldn’t save Leo, she couldn’t save Ty and she couldn’t save Haymitch.

No matter how much she tried.

Cass tries to shake the memories out of her head again to no avail and with a heavy sigh heads off towards the train. But still caught up in her mind, she barely spots the boy running towards her until he hits into her with all the force a running fourteen year old can.

“Sorry Miss Fletch,” the boy looks so much like his namesake and his father that it nearly steals Cass’s breath away.

“It’s alright Leo,” she says softly.

Her nephew gives a short nod and runs off. He knows of course that she is his aunt, there are too few people in 12 for him not to, but it is an unspoken rule they do not talk, Orion’s family and her. No Sunday dinners, no holiday celebrations. Not since Leo died and their mother killed herself out of grief and Cass realized it would be better for everybody if she were alone. They can’t kill the people you care about if you care for no one.

* * *

The train is a solemn affair.

Not that it’s usually any different.

If Haymitch knows about his mother coming to see Cass he says nothing about it, choosing instead to stare sulkily out the window as the older girl, Maysilee, comforts the two younger ones.

At first it seems Cass has somehow managed to get four tributes who have all accepted their fate. The younger children flee to their cabins as soon as dinner is over, despite Mitzi’s offer to watch the other districts’ reapings. Haymitch mumbles something through his scowl that sounds like a semi-agreement and Cass goes to join them, but Maysilee grabs her arm, stopping the older woman in her tracks.

“Can I speak to you privately?” she asks softly.

Cass nods and they walk back into the dining car. “Haymitch will be so mad at me,” Maysilee admits as they sit, “He can’t stand Mitzi. Well, none of the boys can. They say she flirts with all of them.”

Cass nods with a small smile as Maysilee wrings her hands nervously. They’re silent for a moment, but just before Cass can ask why she wanted to talk (although she has a feeling she knows why) Maysilee blurts out her true purpose.

“How do I win? How do I survive?”

“Those,” Cass says slowly, “Are two very different things. I might be able to help you win, but nobody survives the Hunger Games.”

Maysilee swallows, and Cass wonders if her young tribute is beginning to believe all those rumors she knows float around District 12 in regards to the victor’s sanity. So she plunges ahead before Maysilee has time to rethink asking for help.

“Can you fight?”

“Not really.”

“Are you fast?”

“I’m average I guess.” Maysilee bites her lip.

“Do you know how to use any sort of weapon?”

“No,” she admits, “But I’m smart. Top of my class.”

“Top?”

She nods.

Cass gives the girl a critical once over. She’s blonde and pretty, an average height and well-fed without being doughy. Even if she couldn’t fight now, after a few lessons she could probably learn to handle herself.

“Lucky for you the Games are about more than just brute strength,” Cass says, “It’s about being clever and finding out how to use what’s in front of you to your advantage.”

“I can do that,” Maysilee says, more to herself than to Cass.

They finish on that note and head into the other car to watch the rest of the reaping with Mitzi and Haymitch, who is sitting on the opposite end of the room from the escort looking unbelievably uncomfortable. Cass barely pays attention to the screen, focused instead on her conversation with Perri earlier and the one with Maysilee moments ago. Could she help both tributes? Did Haymitch even want to be helped? And what of the younger two?

The questions haunted her as she fell into a restless sleep that night. Her bones ached with tiredness of having to play these games and she wondered how much longer she could go on like this. Could she do this past the 50th Hunger Games? Or would this last Quell suck the remaining life right out of her?

The last question keeps her up until the sun rises the next morning. Cass stumbles into the dining car, idly wondering if it’s too early for a drink when she realizes she’s not alone.

Haymitch sits at the table, nothing on his plate, staring at her expectantly.

Cass looks him over, her mind calculating his chances of survival automatically, a nasty habit that’s formed over the years. He’s a handsome young man, the Capitol will like him even if he is from District 12, so potential sponsors won’t be too hard to find. His broad shoulders indicate strength and Cass can recall murmurs around the district about the Abernathy boy getting into fights here and there usually with town kids, although she can’t remember why. Had it not been this year, with 24 extra kids to compete against, Cass would say Haymitch had a chance of winning.

She sits down at the table and grabs a pastry, pretending she doesn’t know why he’s sitting here so early by himself. She thinks it will be a bit before he talks, but the teen surprises her, beginning before she can take a bite.

“My mother spoke to you,” he says shortly.

Cass nods. “We were…friends once.”

“She said you would help me, but…” he trails off and Cass takes the opportunity to begin breakfast. “I want to win,” he finishes finally.

“You’re not the only one,” Cass replies, “There are 47 others with families waiting for them,” the reason for Haymitch’s fights with the town boys hits her, “girls at home.”

Haymitch looks away. “I want to win,” he repeats, “But I don’t want special treatment.” He frowns, “I mean coach me the same as the others, but don’t give me Grant’s or Fern’s or,” he pauses, “Maysilee’s  sponsors. Or only try to get sponsors for me.”

Cass nods again. “Understood.”

Haymitch sighs, relief evident as his shoulders slump and he grabs a croissant. “Okay good.”

The others fill in for breakfast shortly after. When they’ve all gathered with the exception of Mitzi, who Cass knows has a tendency to sleep late, she clears her throat awkwardly. “Before we get to the Capitol, I’m going to give you some quick advice. Listen to your stylists today. They’re being paid to make you look good and get sponsors, no matter how stupid it may seem. After the Opening Ceremonies, I’ll start talking to each of you about training and strategies. Sound good?”

The children all nod. Even if they don’t agree Cass supposes they know they have no better option than to listen to her. She is after all, the only one they know to get out of the Games alive.

* * *

The Capitol is as bright and as stupid as the last time Cass was here.

With a grimace, she shields her face from the eager citizens, clamoring to get a look at their new tributes and ushers the children inside the training center.

“Remember- do what your stylists tell you!” she calls as several members of the prep team lead them away.

“Good advice,” a voice says behind her.

Cass turns and smiles. “Mags, it’s been a while.”

“A year if I’m not mistaken,” Mags chuckles as the two hug.

“Still not letting any other female victors mentor?”

“Still the only victor for your district?”

“Must you two do this every year?” Both women turn to see the District 8 mentor, Woof, shaking his head at them. Cass smiles and walks over to give the pale, dark-haired man a hug as well.

Mags and Woof are the closest thing Cass has to friends in a long time. They get along well and it’s always nice to have some company that knows what you’re going through as you watch the children you’ve brought to the slaughter be killed one by one.

“So what do you think of this Quell?” Woof says quietly. Cass glances over at him, he won the Hunger Games right after her own at seventeen. Like her, his age has begun to show, and despite the Capitol’s best efforts, his skin has creased and silver lines his hair.

Mags gives him a sharp glare. “Not now,” she hisses.

Woof makes a face at her, but doesn’t say another word. Of the three of them, Woof talks against the Capitol the most. Mags had told Cass it was because District 8 had been one of the worst during the Rebellion, along with District 12 and 13, but unlike 12, there were still mutterings of Rebellion in 8 today.

When they had first begun to talk, Cass had admired Woof, speaking boldly against the Capitol. In fact, for a while she would have said she’d loved that about him. But they’d both been young and lonely and while he’d kept the nightmares at bay for a short time, like so much in Cass’s life, it hadn’t lasted.

But they were still friends, and Cass supposes that counts for something.

“Come on,” Woof says, “Let’s get a good seat.”

Cass thinks that it’s appropriate that since there is twice the amount of tributes; the opening ceremony is twice as depressing. She keeps silent as Woof and Mags discuss the tributes in a detached voice Cass has never been able to master.

“My money’s on the tall girl from 1,” Woof says, “Look at that smirk, deadly.”

Mags looks at the parade thoughtfully. “I’m not sure, some of the outlying districts looks like they have some pretty strong contenders.” She peers over the balcony, “Cass who’s your older boy?”

“Haymitch,” she says, “Haymitch Abernathy.”

As if on cue, the screen cuts to his face and there is a loud cry of approval from the Capitol citizens in the crowd. Haymitch stares straight ahead seemingly unaffected by the crowd’s attention. Maysilee, looking embarrassed, but smiling all the same, receives a similar cry.

“There are too many careers this year for anyone but them to win,” Woof argues, “You should be pleased. Don’t tell me that seventeen year old of yours was picked randomly.” 

“The Gamemakers are going to be going for flash this year,” Mags replies coolly, “There may be twice the kids, but they won’t want the Games to go on for twice as long. I’m telling you it won’t be about who’s the strongest, but who can last the longest.”

* * *

 “You should keep up the Ice King routine.”

“What do you mean?”

“The whole devil may care attitude,” Cass explains, “The Capitol loves it.”

 “Okay,” Haymitch nods slowly, “I guess I can do that.”

“Good boy. Now we can run through some practice ques-”

“Can I ask you a question?” He interrupts.

Cass frowns. “I suppose.”

“Where does the arena end?”

This time it’s Cass that asks, “What do you mean?”

“It can’t go on forever right? I mean there has to be some end, some boundary to every arena,” Haymitch says, brow furrowed.

“I suppose so,” Cass thinks this over.  In the first few Hunger Games she recalls, the tributes were put in literal arenas with tall walls that left them nowhere to escape. By the time of her Games, tributes were too focused on surviving to worry about escaping. “But you could never reach it.”

“Why not?”

“The Gamemakers don’t want you looking for the exit,” she sighs impatiently, “They want you to kill the other tributes.”

Haymitch scowls and Cass nearly laughs at how much he looks like Perri when she didn’t get her way. “But you don’t know what’s at the end?” he asks.

“No,” she admits, “I don’t.”

Haymitch falls silent as he considers this information.

“Haymitch,” Cass says softly, “Don’t go looking for trouble, okay? Play by their rules, that’s how you make it out alive.”

The young boy looks like he wants to argue more, but instead he just shrugs. “You were saying something about practice questions?”

* * *

“Your boy’s doing great,” Woof whispers in her ear at the interviews. Cass smiles, he is, the Capitol audience is eating up his snarky attitude, just as they did with Maysilee’s sweet smile before him.

“I might even be able to get him sponsors,” she grins.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Brutus, a young victor from 2 hissed back at them, “Double the careers means double the sponsors, which I doubt will leave much for your pathetic tributes.”

“Piss off Brutus,” Woof rolls his eyes and shakes his head at Cass, but it does little to comfort her. Brutus is right and Cass doesn’t know if her tributes can survive without any outside help.

* * *

The arena is beautiful, a wide expanse of green grass and colorful flowers with a forest on one end and a gorgeous mountain on the other, its peak covered in pure white snow.

“And it’s probably just as deadly as it is beautiful,” Mags sighs heavily as the tributes are brought up onto their platforms. The children look around the arena in amazement and Cass wonders if this is the first time some of them have ever seen grass this green or a sky so blue.

But as soon as the gong goes off, Mags’s prediction is proven to be true.

Cass is pleased to see Haymitch and Maysilee both take off in an instant, each grabbing a backpack before heading in different directions. But the other two District 12 tributes are not as quick.

Grant, still mesmerized by the arena, barely steps off his platform before a tribute from 2 has rammed a knife through his stomach. Cass winces and looks away as the boy falls to the ground, eyes still transfixed on the blue sky above him.

Fern is slightly smarter, and after gathering her wits, leaves behind the melee at the Cornucopia, not bothering to try and get a weapon, and heads for the woods. But on her way she stops at a bush filled with brightly colored berries.

“No,” Cass murmurs, “Leave it be girl.”

But the temptation of the fruit is too great for little seam girl, who after checking behind her to make sure no one was coming, eagerly grabs a handful of berries and shoves them in her mouth, only to fall down moments after, body convulsing from the poison for a few seconds before falling still, mouth stained red with juice and blood.

“Eighteen dead in the bloodbath,” Woof tells her later that night, “Twenty-one dead overall.”

“Still over half left,” she sighs.

Woof nods. “It’s going to be a long Game.”

* * *

Day five and her two tributes are still alive.

Woof’s are all dead, so he spends his day with her, commenting on Haymitch and Maysilee and attempting to round up some sponsors for them. But the task seems impossible. Even when half of the large Career pack is taken out by a volcano eruption, sponsors are holding on tightly to their purse strings.

“Maysilee is smart, Haymitch is strong, they’re both attractive,” Cass huffs. It’s true; Haymitch has fought off several attackers, including the arena’s mutts. And Maysilee has made the best of her few supplies by dipping the darts from her pack in poison found around the arena, making quite the deadly weapon. “You don’t think Snow is withholding sponsors, do you?” she asks Woof in a low voice.

He shrugs. “It’s possible.”

Cass tries to put the conspiracy theories out of her mind. She has tributes to keep alive. Speaking of which, her eye catches sight of Haymitch, still heading in one direction, away from the mountains, through the woods.

“He’s going to hit the end of the arena soon,” Woof comments.

Cass frowns, thinking of Haymitch’s questioning before his interview. “They won’t let him,” she mutters.

As if on cue, hedges begin to grow around Haymitch in the forest, forcing him to turn around and head towards a small pack of three Careers, including Mags’ volunteer.

“Hell,” Cass grits her teeth, “They’re going to kill him.”

She watches helplessly as Haymitch spots the Careers and takes out his knife. He tries to sneak past them at first, but the Careers see him easily and launch into an attack. But to her surprise, despite the Career’s size advantage, Haymitch is quick and slices through the first Career’s throat before the other two have even had time to react.

But they don’t take kindly to that and are on him in an instant. Haymitch fights hard, Cass will give him that. His stabs and kicks get wilder as the fight goes on, but he lands a few good blows, including one to take the second Career out before the third and final Career, the one from 4 (of course) catches his arms and wretches the knife from his grasp, tossing it aside and forcing Haymitch on his knees.

Cass holds her breath. Another dead tribute, another broken promise.

“You’re gonna pay for this,” the Career (Jayson, Cass thinks, Mags said his name was Jayson) hisses as he points at his dead allies.

Haymitch scowls up at Jayson, looking just as unimpressed with him as he did Ceaser Flickman. “Do your worst.”

Jayson smirks. “With pleasu-” His eyes go wide in surprise when the dart hits him square in the neck and Haymitch only has seconds to scramble out of the way to avoid the final dead Career falling on him.

“We’d live longer with two of us,” Maysilee says as she steps out of the woods and plucks her poison dart from the Career’s neck.

“Guess you just proved that,” Haymitch rubs his neck, “Allies?”

In the control room Cass squeezes her eyes shut. Not allies, anything but allies.

* * *

Haymitch and Maysilee continue the boy’s journey to the end of the arena. Cass still has some hope at first it’s just a coincidence that’s where they’re headed, but Haymitch proves her wrong two days later when he admits to Maysilee that his plan is to reach the edge.

But first they have to get around the hedge the Gamemakers have put up in their way. Cass is just thankful there are still several other tributes running around the arena to keep them occupied, but she knows the camera will eventually find her two again.

Now that Jayson is dead, Mags has joined Woof in watching Cass watch Haymitch and Maysilee and is more than happy to give her input.

“It’s a bad idea,” the older woman says, “He should leave it alone.”

“I know,” Cass scowls, “I told him to forget it but the boy doesn’t listen.”

“Maybe you could send him a message?” Woof suggests.

“Prices are too high and sponsors have all but stopped giving any money,” she sighs. On the screen, Haymitch and Maysilee have decided to try and get through the hedge with a blowtorch from one of the dead Career’s backpacks.

The Gamemakers haven’t prepared for this so the only camera view is from Haymitch and Maysilee’s perspective. And when they burn through the bush, Cass’s breathe catches in her throat when she sees the cliff in front of them.

The edge of the arena.

Maysilee, however, is unimpressed and suggests they move on, but Haymitch refuses. So she offers the next most reasonable option, they split up now. There are too few of tributes left and she doesn’t want it to come down to the two of them.

Haymitch agrees and Maysilee leaves.

“Are you relieved?” Woof asks. Cass’s eyes are still transfixed on the screen, now split in two, one showing Haymitch looking over the edge into the abyss and the other showing Maysilee walking away.

Cass opens her mouth to respond, but is distracted by Haymitch who just accidently kicked a pebble over the edge only to have it fly back up at him. He’s confused at first, but then grabs a rock and throws it over the cliff. It took flies back and he catches it with a laugh.

Not good, Cass thinks.

She’s so focused on Haymitch she doesn’t notice the other screen until Maysilee screams. Haymitch takes off like a rocket towards the sound and Cass watches in terror as her tribute is torn to shreds by bright pink birds.

Woof clasps her on the shoulder as Haymitch reaches Maysilee with only enough time to hold her hand as she dies. The cannon booms with a sense of finality and the District 12 mentor closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

One left.

* * *

Haymitch stays in the forest by where Maysilee dies while the last two careers face off and another tribute is killed off by more mutts. The girl from District 1 is the only other one left and all Cass wants to do is stop watching. The girl has killed more tributes than any other person Cass has seen and she has little hope for Haymitch.

But her tribute shows no fear when he and the girl finally face off.

It’s not an even match, any idiot can see the girl is stronger, but Haymitch gives nearly as good as he gets and even Woof has to turn away from the screen when he takes out the girl’s eye.

But then the girl gets too close and her axe tears through Haymitch’s stomach like tissue paper before it goes sailing off the edge of the cliff Haymitch has spent the whole Game looking for.

Cass feels her knees grow weak at the sight of her last tribute convulsing on the ground. The District 1 girl is swaying on her feet, but it’s clear she can hold out longer than Haymitch can. It’ll only be a matter of minutes.

That is, it would have been, if this hadn’t been the cliff Haymitch has spent the entire game looking for. The career’s axe flies back up and lands itself squarely in its master’s chest.

A cannon sounds and suddenly Cass is no longer the only District 12 victor.

“He used the arena as a weapon,” Woof says, awe in his voice, “Clever.”

The sense of relief that flooded Cass upon hearing the cannon is immediately replaced by absolute dread. “They’re not going to like that,” she says weakly.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Mags pats her on the shoulder.

But Cass knows better.

* * *

Haymitch is stitched up good as new with only a thin white scar across his stomach as evidence his insides were spilling out only days ago. The doctors tell him will disappear in a few days.

“What if I don’t want it to?” he asks them defiantly.

They just laugh. The newest victor already has a reputation as a joker.

“Why won’t they take me seriously?” Haymitch scowls as they board the train for home. Cass debates humoring him, but deep down she knows he has to know the truth. Better sooner than later.

“You used their arena against them,” Cass says, staring out the window, “They don’t like that, so they’re making you a joke, making sure no one will take you or anything you say or do seriously.”

“So did Maysilee,” Haymitch points out, “Using the poison in the arena in her darts.”

“And she’s coming home in a coffin.”

“But-”

“The gods don’t like it when mortals think they’re better than them.”

Haymitch doesn’t understand what Cass means by gods and mortals, but it ends the discussion nevertheless.

* * *

 The journey home is long. Although Cass knows she should be celebrating, there’s a pit of dread in her stomach. Something is wrong. Everything is too easy.

Haymitch doesn’t share her concerns. Despite the sobering nature of their short talk the day before, he’s eager to get back to 12, pacing around the cabin in anticipation. Just before they reach home, however, the train pulls to a stop.

Cass frowns and stands up immediately. “Stay here,” she instructs Haymitch. She knew it was too easy.

Cass heads to the front of the train, but one of the workers cuts her off. “You can’t go any further ma’am,” he tells her.

“What’s causing the hold-up?”

“Fire apparently,” he looks uncomfortable and the feeling of dread in Cass’s stomach grows, “We got word on the radio there had been an explosion at the train station earlier this morning. But it’s under control and we should be able to pull in soon.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

The worker looks away.

“Was anyone hurt?” She repeats.

“There were four casualties ma’am,” he says nervously, “They’re waiting for us to pull in the station before they can identify who though.”

The thought of her next question makes Cass feel nauseous, but she plunges ahead. “Why?”

The worker shifts from foot to foot. “They want Mr. Abernathy to identify the bodies, ma’am. They think it’s his family.”

* * *

Her head aches with the migraine that has been her persistent companion for the past few weeks. Cass massages her temples with a scowl.

“Sorry,” the baker’s son apologizes, “I swear it won’t be a minute more.”

“It’s fine,” Cass looks up and manages a smile, “Take your time.”

The boy nods and scuttles away. Cass can’t blame him from being skittish with her, she can only imagine how she must looks scowling all over the place, ready to kill.

Thankfully, the bread that she’s been waiting for is finished moments later and Cass leaves the bakery with the loaves tucked under her arm, heading back to Victor’s Village. As she approaches the houses, they all appear dark and empty, and she gives a heavy sigh, making her way to the one house that should have its lights on.

“Haymitch?” she calls, rapping on the door. It swings open and she sighs again. “Haymitch, you really should at least close the door if you’re not going to lock it.”

There’s no reply, not that this is anything new. Cass makes her way to the living room, where she finds the newest victor on the couch wrapped up in a blanket staring at his empty fireplace.

“I brought you bread,” she says. He gives no indication of hearing her and she sets the bread down on the table before sitting next to him.

“They’re in a better place now,” she offers.

Haymitch scoffs and grabs the bottle she hasn’t noticed on the floor. Cass frowns and grabs it from him before he can raise it to his lips. The bottle of white liquor is near empty.

“I told you to stop drinking this stuff,” she huffs, “It’s what the Capitol wants. Why do you think they keep sending it to you? So you’ll be drunk out of your mind and no one will take you seriously.”

Haymitch doesn’t respond so Cass tries another tactic. “Your mother would hate to see you like this,” she says softly, “She’d want you to go on living.”

Haymitch turns to her and Cass is slightly shocked by the dark look in the boy’s eyes. He looks like he’s aged years in a matter of weeks.

“How do you know?” he asks voice gravely from lack of use, “How could you possibly know what she would have wanted?”

“I was her friend,” Cass says weakly.

“You were her friend,” Haymitch shoots back; “You hadn’t spoken to her in years! You don’t know what she would have wanted! You don’t know anything about her!”

“I know she wanted you alive.”

“She wouldn’t have if she’d known the cost!”  He yells standing and grabbing the bottle from Cass’s hand only to throw it into the fireplace. The dying embers are brought to life by the alcohol and the flames rear up to match the boy’s anger.

Over the past 30 odd years, Cass had learned to keep her cool in the face of crying children, dying children, ignorant Capitol citizens, slimy politicians and more. But at that moment, arguing with that sixteen year old boy, something in Cass breaks.

“You’re right,” she mumbles, as she stands, stumbling over the table as she backs up to the door, “You’re right, I’m sorry, I’m…” she trails off, mind blank.

“Cass?” Haymitch’s anger fades as he looks at his mentor curiously, “Are you okay?”

Cass can feel herself trembling, and somewhere it registers that no, she’s not okay. But she just nods and gives the boy a shaky smile.

“Cass, wait,” Haymitch reaches out, “Where are you going?”

Cass doesn’t answer, fleeing from the house as fast as her feet will carry her to her own home where she fumbles with the key for a minute before managing to unlock the door. She looks behind her towards Haymitch’s house, but the boy hasn’t followed.

Stumbling into her house, Cass falls on all fours on the carpet, immediately throwing up all over the floor.

Wiping her mouth, she looks down at the mess. Her vision’s swimming and instead of the blue carpet she knows is in her house she sees white snow and bloody handprints and she scrambles backwards.

“No, no, no,” She folds herself into a fetal position, it’s been so long since this has happened, she’d forgotten what it felt like, “I’m not there. I’m not in the arena. I’m in District 12. The arena was years ago. I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.”

She repeats the words until she falls asleep on the floor, the words still echoing like a mantra in her head.

* * *

 After that Cass doesn’t leave the house much.

The nightmares come for her every night worse than the last. Erik cuts her into pieces with his butcher knife only to put her back together again and allow Ty and Cora to take turns slicing her up.

Maysilee watches with big blue eyes and asks, “Why did you choose Haymitch over me?”

Cass tries to respond, but when she opens her mouth nothing comes out.

She tries to stay awake, tries to hide from the nightmares, but they creep up on her even when she’s awake. Perri sits on the end of her bed when she gets dressed. “You were supposed to take care of him,” she accuses, “You’re just killing him. Just like you killed me.”

Haymitch comes by to apologize, but she barely responds. After that, he takes up her roll of bringing food to make sure she eats and quietly mumbling that his mother wouldn’t have wanted this either. But Cass rarely responds.

One day he catches her in the middle of a fit, yelling at ghosts that aren’t there and throwing plates at people long since dead. He waits for her to finish, for her to become a sobbing mess on the floor before moving her to the couch and quietly murmuring comforts to her she vaguely recognizes as the same things Perri once said when she was upset until she falls asleep. But after that, his visits more or less stop.

Leo watches her as Cass cooks dinner, scowling at her in disgust. “If you’d just died when you were supposed none of this would have happened.”

Her knife slips and slices her hand. The pain shocks her and when she looks up Leo is gone and her counter is covered in blood.

When the doctor comes to wrap it, Cass hesitates to tell him about the hallucinations, but gives in right before he leaves. “Have you been getting much rest?” he asks.

“No,” she admits.

He nods. “I’m sure once you get some rest you’ll feel much better Miss Fletch.”

Cass agrees, but as she sits at the window and watches him go, she shakes her head. “No,” she says, “I won’t be better.” Leo and Perri agree behind her. “I’ll never be better.  This is my punishment. The gods are tired of my sacrifice and they want me now.”

* * *

She finds a blank notebook in the mess that has become her house and slowly starts to write down everything she can think of. From her reaping to Leo to the first Quell to Woof to Mags. It takes a few days, but since Cass does nothing but write, she supposes this isn’t particularly long.

At the end of the book she writes a small note, scribbles a name on the cover and for the first time in weeks, goes to take a shower.

It’s oddly cathartic getting everything out. As she dresses in simple brown pants and a dark blue top, Cass feels free for the first time. She feels confident as she walks though the town and the seam, smiling at the people of District 12, who only gawk back, amazed to see their first victor up and about not to mention, smiling.

And her heart swells at the sight of the fence that separates the district from the forest, especially when she cannot hear the telltale buzz of electricity, allowing her to slip through a hole in the fence with ease.

Cass hasn’t been in a forest since her Games, but this one is a far cry from the icy tundra she had survived. It’s welcoming, the birds chirping softly, the rustling of squirrels in the trees. A light wind blows, tangling her hair and she smiles up at the tree tops, feeling the warm sun on her face.

She had been a toddler the last time she had been in the forest with her father. Before the Capitol had decided to fence it off, they had gone and he had gone her animals and plants. It was a struggle to remember now, but one lesson had stuck with her and the death of little Fern in the arena had brought it back to the surface of her mind.

Cass begins her hunt quickly, jumping from bush to bush, searching for the right berries. Some look close, but she knows they aren’t right. Then, finally, she spots them, innocently surrounded by some raspberries.

She reaches out and has a handful before she can even think.

“What are you doing?” The voice surprises Cass and she jumps away from the berry bush immediately, nearly dropping her prize in the process. But the shock is not nearly as great as what she feels when she turns to see where the voice is coming from.

Suddenly, she is sixteen again, tripping over her own tongue when Lark Everdeen smiles at her and asks how she’s doing. The boy in front of her is a near duplicate of his father, but Cass’s mind catches up to her eyes and after a moment, she realizes he is not his father.

And she is not sixteen. So she draws herself up to her full height and Cass scowls at the youngest Everdeen boy. 

“It’s none of your business,” she informs him.

He narrows his eyes. “What are you doing with those berries? Don’t you know what they are?”

She looks down at the innocent berries in her hand. “Yes.”

The boy looks lost. “Well what are you going to do with them? You can’t,” he swallows, “If you kill someone with them I’ll tell, I swear.”

Cass raises a brow. “Noble, but you won’t.”

“What?”

“You’re not going to tell anyone,” she says, “You’re going to forget everything you saw just now.”

“No I won’t.”

“You will,” she gulps, hating herself as she makes the threat, “Or I’ll make sure the next person that catches you out here is a Peacekeeper.”

The boy balks at the threat, but Cass is impressed as he keeps his ground. “I won’t tell anyone if you promise not to hurt anyone with them.”

Cass hesitates, she can promise not to hurt many people with them, but not everyone. But she doesn’t bother clarifying this to the boy and instead says, “If you tell anyone what you saw, the Peacekeepers will know you’ve been in the forest. And I don’t think your noble confession will save your back from any whippings.”

Again the boy hesitates. “What are you going to do with them?”

Cass looks away. “Nothing bad,” she says, “I promise.”

He bites his lips but nods. “Okay, I didn’t see anything.”

“Good boy,” she tells him before fleeing the forest, the nightlock in her hand staining the skin a bright purple.

* * *

According to the doctor, it’s been three days since she died before someone finds the body.

What he doesn’t know is that it was only one day, but that first person left the house before he could be seen, a book with the name ‘Haymitch’ on the cover, tucked in his jacket.

According to the doctor, there’s no way to be sure of what caused her death, although he suspects poison.

No one thinks to ask the Everdeen boy, who walks around as though there is a dark cloud hanging over his head for weeks after, except when he spots the pretty blond daughter of the apothecary owner.

Her death is mourned by the Capitol. Their huntress is gone and replaced by a clown, who drinks so much on his Victory Tour that he can’t even make an appearance in districts 5 and 1.

But the Capitol moves on quickly, as they so often do.

* * *

 

_Dear Haymitch,_

_I’m sorry, but I can’t go on any longer. The Capitol has wanted me dead since the moment I was born and seems determined to kill everyone I care about until I am. I should have done this a long time ago. Perhaps if I had, ~~your mom your family~~ this wouldn’t have happened. But I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving those children to head to their deaths alone. _

_But now you’re here, the second District 12 victor and you can carry on where I’ve failed. And you have to carry on Haymitch, if not ~~for me~~ for the children, for your family. I’m so sorry Haymitch._

_This book is my story. Read it, burn it, do with it what you like. I just couldn’t die knowing it would be gone with me._

_Please be strong._

_Cassiope Fletch_

The note at the end of the book is dotted and smudged with tears. Haymitch reads it once, twice, three times before he rips out the page and tosses the letter in the fire, watching it burn to ashes as he takes a swig of the latest liquor the Capitol has sent him.

He does not want to carry on. He doesn’t want to be strong.

But Haymitch knows he has no choice.

He throws the book under his couch. It sits there over the years, occasionally being dug out for a short read before Haymitch can’t stand it any longer and he tosses it back under. Until one day he reads it all through as he gets drunk. He tucks it in his jacket as he stumbles over to the porch that used to be hers and sings some song he can’t remember until another huntress comes out to yell at him.

And then he tells her the story.

* * *

Peeta wakes at the cold touch of his wife as she crawls back into bed with him.

“Katniss?” he mumbles, squinting down at her. Katniss buries herself in his side.

“Have you ever heard of Cassiope Fletch?” she asks.

“No,” Peeta frowns, “Who is she?”

Katniss hesitates. “Nobody, just someone Haymitch was telling me about, someone he knew a long time ago.”

“It’s a pretty name,” Peeta says absently, wrapping his arm around her, “Cassiope. Maybe we could add it to the list.” The arm he’s wrapped around her reaches down to touch her stomach and the small bump that’s begun to show in the past few weeks.

“No,” Katniss replies, her hand resting on top of his, “I don’t think so.” Some things, she thinks, are better left for the dead.

“Ok,” Peeta yawns and Katniss can tell he’s falling asleep again, “So who was she?”

“A victor,” Katniss says softly, “The first victor of District 12.”      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Like I said, I'm pretty proud of this (although I'm not sure why) and don't have any plans to continue although there are a few parts I might go into more detail with someday (I have no idea where that Woof thing came from and I am moderately interested in writing more on that, but idk). 
> 
> But for right now, yeah I'm finished, hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> The story of Cassiopeia doesn’t go quite as Snow says (although it’s very close), but after so many years I think it’s safe to assume some stories have gotten a little messed up.
> 
> Considering it's only two chapters, I've worked on this story for a ridiculously long time. But I'm pretty proud of it, so I hope you all enjoy.


End file.
